Wednesday, November 27

As dawn crept up the horizon, Peter flicked bill after bill into the mail box. When the whole stack was in, he leaned back and cut loose with a howl of pure joy.

A huge weight lifted from him. He knew for sure that if he let go of the ground he might fly up and never come down. He grinned and went jogging.

Less than an hour later, he found himself on campus strolling into the financial aid office.

Look, ma, no line. He sauntered right up to the counter. "Top of the morning, ladies," he said with a smooth grin. "Tell ya what. Let's get me squared away for next semester."

The lady behind the desk smiled at him. "Certainly. What's your name?"

"Peter Parker," he said. He smiled at her. She tapped at her keyboard for a while.

Her expression clouded. "I'm afraid your paperwork has come through, yesterday," she said. She looked up at him. "Your aid was denied."

"Of course it was," he said, unflappable. "So how about we just, oh, pay off the last semester of my college education with some cold, hard, cash, scholarship be damned. How does that hit ya?" His smile grew almost unbearably wide.

Her eyes got very big indeed as he whipped out five stacks of fifty dollar bills. "This enough? I got some more!" he said, shaking his bag and barely restraining a laugh.

Half an hour later that was sorted out and he was moving crosstown at a speedy, weightless jog. He closed in on the hospital, and found his way to Aunt May's room.

"Aunt May!" he said as he strolled in. She looked up at him, tired and pale, but she tried to smile.

"I have some great news for you, Aunt May," Peter said, slinging his bag to the ground and sitting on the chair by the bed. "I won the Anthony Stark Meritous Scholar award! Three hundred thousand dollars!" He beamed. "I got it all now. The house, the hospital, college, you name it we're covered. Isn't that great news!?"

Her eyes got very large and her fluttering hand reached for his wrist. "Peter, can it be true?" she said.

"Oh yeah," he said. "I'm going to get you the best medical care money can buy."

"Oh, Peter," she said, leaning forward and pulling him into a hug. "I knew others would someday recognize how great you are."

Just then the doctor walked in. Peter grinned at him. "Hey doc, do I have some news for you," he said. "Happy Thanksgiving!"

xXx

Peter knocked on the doorway. Beck looked up from his work and smiled. "How's it going?" he said.

"I'm early, that okay?"

"Sure," Beck said, gesturing to the chair. "How's it been, these past couple days."

"Like I hit the bottom of the hill on the rollercoaster and got fired through a loop," Peter said with a grin as he moved down into the chair. "I just won the Anthony Stark Meritous Scholar award. Three hundred thousand dollars. They say money can't buy happiness. Well, they're probably right. But as of this moment I have got to be one of the happiest guys on the planet." Peter was beaming. "Money can't buy you love. But hell, it sure does help on Valentines day. Ha ha! Just in time for Thanksgiving. And boy am I. Thankful, that is. And giving. My aunt is gonna be out of debt, I got next semester covered, you are looking at a guy who went from the bottom to the top fast enough that his head is still spinning!"

Beck blinked.

Opened his mouth.

Shut it, tried on a smile.

"That's great news, Peter!" he said with a grin.

Just had to be Stark. Damn. Beck wondered if he knew about the rest of what was going on. Maybe Fisk didn't need to know about this just yet. "Hey, Peter, mind if we do the session anyway?"

"Sure," Peter shrugged. "I've got some time before my last class of the day, and I'm in an easy mood. Hit me, doc."

"I've put together a few questions this time," Beck said wryly. "Okay, let's start at the top. Tell me a little about your family; brothers, sisters, parents, that sort of thing." He leaned back, desperately thinking. Time, he needed time. He felt his plan coming apart at the seams, unraveling, and his mind raced trying to figure out how to salvage the situation.

"I don't have any of the above," Peter shrugged. "I was raised by my aunt and uncle, they were childless and I was an only child. My parents were killed in a plane crash. Before my parents left they asked my aunt and uncle to take care of me; when they agreed, they figured it was for the duration when they got the news." Peter sighed. "My aunt and uncle missed having a child of their own, so I was welcome. I still live with my Aunt May, actually."

"What about your uncle?" Beck asked. Please. Please have a trauma you need help with. Sympathy alone won't get me close enough, Beck thought. The beginnings of a plan began to form in his mind.

"Uncle Ben," Peter said, his face troubled. He looked out the window. "Uncle Ben was a good man, like a father to me. A mugger killed him when I was barely in my teens. Uncle Ben's head was bashed in by a pipe for a wallet that didn't have anything in it. He was worth a lot more to me alive than his wallet was to his killer."

Peter shook himself and looked at Beck. "Look, I'm adjusted," he said. "Everybody has trauma in their lives. I was having some trouble coping because of money and the stress from not having any. Otherwise I'm a normal, healthy, balanced young adult."

"If you're healthy and well adjusted, you're not a normal young adult," Beck said wryly. "But I can take a hint." He smiled at Peter. "I'm relieved to hear about your good news. I was worried about you, actually. That's why I made you promise to come today. I'm glad to see that a little good news hasn't made you forget your promises. I'll tell the dean you're over it." He smiled.

Peter cocked his head to the side. "Thank you," he said in a faintly surprised voice.

As Beck's smile grew, the screen saver kicked in on the computer screen behind him. Shifting colors and patterns…

"Hey, that's a neat screen saver," Peter said, then his gaze was drawn into it and he sat absolutely still, slack jawed.

Beck thrust himself out of his chair and knelt at Peter's knee. "You will have trouble sleeping," he intoned, his voice low and fast. "A dark secret from your past has begun to plague you. If only you could talk to Beck about it, everything would be okay." He paused. "When you awaken, you will have no memory of this or the screen saver." Beck pushed himself up and back, and as he landed in his seat he nudged the mouse with his elbow. The screen saver shut off.

Peter blinked.

"So we're done?" he said.

"Hey," Beck said with a warm smile. "Careful celebrating. You have a great day."

Peter grinned at him and was gone.

Beck let out a deep breath, glanced at his computer, and swore softly to himself. Now what? He closed his eyes and started thinking through Plan B.

xXx

The elevator opened, and Peter stepped out of the mirrored box into the plush hallway. He glanced around, sniffed the air, shivered. The Osborn complex. He walked down the hallway and pushed the doorbell next to the ornate wooden door.

A moment later the door opened, and a thin woman looked at him. "Yes?" she said. "No solicitors," she added.

"No, no, I'm Peter Parker. I was Harry's roommate. I was hoping he was in," Peter said.

"Come in," she said tonelessly, glancing at his clothes. He stepped in, and she closed the door. "Please wait here," she said. Then she headed into the depths of the huge apartment.

Peter glanced around at the chandelier, the deep carpet, the wood paneling on the wall, the baby grand. He realized that the furnishings of this room would approach if not cover the cost of buying Aunt May's house.

The housekeeper returned. "Please follow me," she said. Peter followed her through a few corridors, then to a double door. She opened it and stepped in. "Mister Osborn, it's Peter Parker." Then she glanced at Peter and left.

Peter stepped into the loft. It was twice as tall as a normal room, and skylights angled down one side of the ceiling. A vast television played quietly to itself at one end of the room, and Harry sprawled on the couch in front of it.

"Harry?" Peter said. Harry glanced over.

"Hey," he said tonelessly. "What's up."

Peter saw that Harry was watching Jerry Springer. "Just thought I'd drop by, see how you're doing."

"Fine," Harry said. "Better than ever."

"Cool," Peter said, walking into Harry's field of vision without blocking his view of the television. Pinball machines, arcade games, a waterbed, bunk bed, balcony… Peter still struggled to come to grips with the room. It was about the size of his house. "Is MJ around?"

Harry almost chuckled. "Not at the moment. She'll turn up," he said.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Ookay, Harry, it was good to see you. Happy Thanksgiving, man," he added, trying for eye contact and not getting it. "If you need anything," though Peter couldn't imagine what he could need, "you have my number at Aunt May's, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"I can show myself out," Peter said.

Harry waved in his direction.

Peter backed away, then walked out of the cavernous room, down the hallways. He brushed at his face with his sleeve. Damn. He felt a burning in his chest.

"I've lost Harry,"he whispered to himself.

He stepped into the elevator and let it take him all the way down.

xXx

Peter opened the door and walked into the quiet house. That stop at the bank had finished off a perfectly bizarre day. He dropped to the couch and lay there for a long, long moment. His eyes drifted closed and he listened to the clock tick, to the stillness. He let out a long breath and found himself totally drained.

"I'm home," he murmured.

A few minutes later he got up and headed for the stairs when the answering machine caught his eye. He stepped over to where it flashed and pushed the button.

eep "Peter, this is MJ. Uh, turns out my family has decided to have this big get together thing and I have to go. So… I'll be in Florida for a few days. So take care, okay? Give Aunt May some turkey, ya big lug. And… um… I guess that's it." eep

Peter sighed and quietly bonked his head against the wall. "So if Harry decides to shoot me," he says, "maybe I won't dodge."

That night, Peter's dreams were haunted, shallow, and restless…